


So That's What They Mean By A Hung Parliament

by ellia



Category: Political RPF - UK 21st c.
Genre: Bondage, D/s, Kink Meme, M/M, dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-30
Updated: 2010-05-30
Packaged: 2017-10-09 19:36:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/90796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellia/pseuds/ellia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Cameron and Clegg have trouble working together they get sent off to a mediator to help them get along and resolve their issues. It ends up working a little too well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	So That's What They Mean By A Hung Parliament

Dave isn't sure exactly how he got into this mess, but he's almost completely certain it's that scheming bastard, Osborne's fault. It might have been true that there'd been a few teething problems with the new government; but honestly what did they expect from him?

 

Having to pander to Clegg, and his ever-changing list of demands, would be enough to make anyone a little angry. Just because there had been raised voices, (and maybe a little pushing and shoving), there'd been no need to subject them to this indignity.

 

It seems both the Lib-Dems and his own colleagues, rotten bunch of traitors, had decided that things had to change, so he and Clegg had very reluctantly agreed to see a mediator in an attempt to improve their working relationship.

 

After a long weekend listening to lectures about trust and openness, he's about ready to explode. He's gone along with all the stupid games, and pretended to agree with all their suggestions. Not that he's actually ready to trust Clegg, political suicide has never been on his agenda, and he knows that Clegg won't hesitate to shove a knife in his back if he thinks it will get him what he wants. But he's done pretty well fooling the mediation team, after all the long weeks of the election gave him plenty of practice at faking sincerity.

 

Now that the two of them have supposedly bonded, they've got to get through a photo shoot. According to the latest in a long line of image consultants, they need to show the public that they're friends now. Have to prove to the masses that they've learned how to get along. The very idea of it makes him cringe, but he knows he doesn't have much of a choice.

 

They've been through half a dozen poses already, and he's sick and tired of it, Nick, (he's not allowed to call him Clegg anymore as apparently that's _defensive_), seems to actually be enjoying the process, and is starting to act like they're really friends. It's a bit disconcerting, Dave's a lot more used to having Lib-Dems in general, and Nick in particular, look at him like he's some kind of monster, so this friendly affability is throwing him off his game.

 

They've changed into casual clothes, for what the photographer has promised will be the final set of shots, They've both gone for jeans and polo shirts, standard off-duty wear for MP's trying to look like the man in the street. David would be happier back in his suit, but he's learned how to fake being comfortable over the years, so he plasters his best smile back on his face, and heads over to where they're waiting for him.

 

The photographer, a pretentious little shit named Ryan, starts talking about what he wants to get out of this, but Dave tunes him out, he's a little too distracted by his first glimpse of Nick. There's something different about him dressed like this, a dangerous edge that has never come across in any of his photographs.

 

Where Dave looks like any other husband and father, dressed for a weekend being dragged round the shops; Nick's outfit is more suitable for a night out clubbing. At least it would be if you frequented the kind of clubs that call for skin-tight jeans, and shirts that are just a touch too small for the muscled chest they're trying to cover. The kind of clubs that Dave's spent long years fantasising about, though he's never been brave enough to enter one, not even during his Bullingdon days.

 

He hears Ryan say something about _illustrating their new bond,_ and how the picture has to be _symbolic_; he's still not listening, so he just murmurs his agreement, nodding along whilst he tries to get his head together. He doesn't know what's wrong with him, he's not looked at a man that way in years, and Nick certainly isn't his usual type.

 

He tunes back in just as Ryan produces a length of rope, and realises that he's really in trouble now. One of the assistants shuffles them into place, they're left standing face to face, their bodies entirely too close for Dave's comfort. Then she takes his right arm, and raises it out to the side and up, Nick's left arm mirrors the movement, and they're left standing in awkward silence as she binds their arms together with a series of intricate loops and knots. They're both in short sleeves, and the rope is digging into their flesh, pressing their bare skin together, marking them both.

 

He doesn't want to meet Nick's eyes, but forces himself to raise his head anyway and tries to think of something to say, anything to break the awful tension he's feeling. The assistant has bustled off, and the photographer is busy fussing with light metres and camera angles, for the moment they've got a small amount of privacy. But just as he's about to open his mouth and speak, Nick shifts his body slightly, and the words are lost, as he feels the hard length of Nick's dick press against his groin.

 

His own dick twitches in response, and he can't hide the way this is affecting him. There's a knowing smirk on Nick's face, and Dave realises that this time he's really screwed. Ryan calls out that he's ready, and asks them to pretend that they're having a serious discussion. There's a small part of Dave's mind that thinks that this entire thing is stupid, that this photo is hardly the sort of thing that's going to inspire confidence in his leadership, and make him appear prime ministerial.

 

But that's only a very small piece; the rest of his brain is concentrating hard on trying to control his treacherous body. He thinks it's going to be okay, that there's a chance he can hide his reaction, but then Nick starts to talk. In a voice too quiet for the others to hear he says, "I always knew you Eton boys were kinky, who'd have thought a little bondage was all it would take to shut you up."

 

Dave tries to answer, but just ends up working his mouth, as his voice seems to have deserted him. It doesn't seem to matter; the photographer encourages them to carry on, saying he's getting some wonderful shots.

 

He's getting harder by the second, and when Nick shifts position again, bringing their bodies even closer, he gasps a little at the sensation of their cocks rubbing against each other through two thin layers of denim. He tries to turn the gasp into a cough, and waves off Ryan's words of concern, he's just grateful that he's not prone to blushing, otherwise he's sure he'd be bright red by now.

 

"We're almost done now, and when they leave, I think it's time that you and I had a little chat." Nick flexes his left arm, pulling against the rope, making it cut deeper into Dave's skin.

 

He nods his agreement, does his best to keep a smile on his face, tries to fool the photographer by moving his lips like they're having an actual conversation, but he's hanging on by the last shreds of his control and Nick seems determined to make him break.

 

"That rope looks so good against your skin, I think I'll tie you up, hang your wrists from that hook." Nick tilts his head towards the corner of the room, and Dave can just make out a metal bracket set high on the wall. The image flashes into his mind, how he'd look tied up that way, the hook's high enough that his body would be stretched out, completely vulnerable.

 

"You're going to let me, aren't you? You'll let me tie you up, blister that arse of yours, give you what you deserve. You've been such a bad boy all weekend, pretending to co-operate, when you really don't trust me at all. You're going to, we're going to play a few of **my** games, and I guarantee you won't still be faking when I'm done with you."

 

The thought that Nick had been able to see through him so easily is terrifying to David, he's spent his entire adult life perfecting his masks, and he isn't prepared for someone who can see past them.

 

The photographer finally signals that he's done, and the assistant frees them from the rope. Dave pulls away from Nick as quickly as he can, mumbling something about needing a drink, he heads straight for the refreshment table and gulps down a glass of water.

 

He hears the mediator and photographer packing up, and gives them a quick wave when they call out their farewells. He hears Nick's footsteps get closer and closer, but can't bring him self to stand up and turn around to face what's coming. Nick doesn't give him time to think, just folds his body over Dave's, his chest pressed tight against Dave's back bending him forward over the table, his lips nibbling and sucking at Dave's neck, leaving marks he's never going to be able to explain to Sam.

 

"He left me one of the cameras, I think you've still got a few good shots in you today." Nick whispers the words in his ear, before pulling his head back and pressing their lips together. He's grinding his dick against Dave's arse, and even though he knows he should stop this before it turns into another Boris situation, he can't make himself do it.

 

He's so sick of hiding, of never getting to have something just for him self. His political ambitions have dictated all his decisions since he was a teenager, and he's so very tired. Of the lies, and the responsibilities he's taken on, and the weight of everybody's expectations; Nick's offering him the chance to let go, if only for a little while, and he thinks maybe this is something he needs.

 

He lets his body relax, opens his mouth and deepens the kiss, stops trying to pull away and gives into his desires. Nick gives him a few seconds to enjoy the new sensations, before he steps back and spins Dave around to face him.

 

He doesn't say anything, just stands there, staring for a long minute, before raising his hands to Dave's shoulders and pushing him to his knees. He watches in silence as Nick unfastens his jeans and swallows hard at the first sight of his dick. Nick's what you might call _well endowed,_ actually he's hung like the proverbial horse, larger than any of Dave's previous partners.

 

He opens his mouth and lets the tip slip inside, the bitter taste sending his mind spinning back to his last years at Oxford, the last time he'd done this anywhere except his dreams. He presses forward, taking more of it into his mouth, lets his tongue curl around the unfamiliar flesh, old skills coming to the fore.

 

He feels Nick's fingers tangle in his hair, holding him in place, and he almost chokes as Nick thrusts deeper inside. He'd forgotten how good this felt, to kneel at someone's feet, and let him self be used.

 

"Such a good boy, taking my dick like this." The words almost shock him out of his rhythm, but Nick's fingers twist in his hair and tug him back into place.

 

"You know I think now might be a good time for that little chat I mentioned. Now that I'm sure I've got you all to myself, without anything to distract you, and I know you're paying proper attention." Dave has no idea how Nick is still able to form coherent sentences, and he's really not in the mood for a chat right now, so he takes Nick's dick a little deeper, opening his throat, and swallowing around the hard length, hoping to distract the other man.

 

His efforts go un-rewarded, Nick's voice may be a little unsteady, but he's still talking. "We'll start with proportional representation, and if you listen like a good little boy, I might just consider letting you come tonight." Nick lifts his right foot, presses it against Dave's aching dick, and he can't help but twitch his hips and grind up against the gentle pressure. He'll do anything, promise anything, just so long as Nick gets him off; and from the smug look on Nick's face, he knows exactly how desperate Dave is.

 

Oh fuck, now David knows he's screwed, how in the hell is he going to explain to the central committee that he's decided to replace most of the Tory manifesto promises with Lib-Dem policies. They might have wanted him to learn to co-operate with Nick, but he's fairly sure this isn't what they'd had in mind.

 

He remembers that this weekend retreat had originally been Osborne's suggestion, and Dave figures his so-called oldest friend can just suffer the consequences of one of his bright ideas for once. The party's going to want a scapegoat, and Dave's got no intention of giving up either the leadership, or this dangerous game of Nick's. Let's face it, Vince Cable will probably make a better Chancellor than George, and if he makes the offer, there's every chance he'll wind up getting fucked tonight.


End file.
